Made Of Glass
by JellyMomo
Summary: A fluffy fic about angsty!Arthur and heroic!Alfred. Lame summary is lame. Rated T for cutting and killer amount of fluff. R/R


Made Of Glass

After the revolutionary war they didn't speak to each other for a long time. As time passed they started talking again, brief little conversations at first. Eventually they changed into longer talks, even playful fights. Both nations seemed to grow closer until it all became more serious.  
They started fighting over every little thing and insult each other all the time. It was never physical but everyone could see how it hurt them both.

Then it happened.  
"I. Hate. You."  
The words nobody would have believed to hear from America's mouth. A flash of serious hurt stayed in the Englishman's eyes for a while longer than usually. Everyone in the room grew dead silent. Even Alfred himself looked shocked.

Seemingly nothing changed. Their fights seemed to even out and it was just the occasional sarcastic insulting. They hardly looked at each other anymore. Still things were terribly wrong. Some nations even feared for another world war.

The meetings continued despite from all this.

"Has anyone gotten any ideas on this matter?" Germany asked and America jumped up from his seat.  
"I do!" he announced. Then he saw it. He saw the scars on Arthur's wrists. Some of them still fresh, some older. All of them purposely caused. Suddenly his amazing idea didn't matter anymore.

The awesome hero hadn't noticed anything, though despite their ongoing silent war, England was always there on his bad days. Even if it were just a few pats on the shoulder or a little encouraging nod.

Alfred gave up the idea of talking and just sat back down, other nations sharing quizzical looks. "America-san?" Japan asked with a kind and concerned voice. "Mm… Sorry, forget it. It's just plain dumb", Alfred replied and tried giving them a reassuring smile before burying his head to this hands. Other nations knew better than to push him.

"Alfred, you okay?" Arthur asked quietly after the meeting was over. The question made Alfred feel even worse. It reminded him of the fact that Arthur certainly wasn't feeling okay and he, the supposed-to-be-awesome hero, hadn't done anything about it. "Uh. Guess so. Hey, thanks Art…" he said and for the briefest moment their eyes locked. "Umm… okay.." England said and after a moment of awkward silence he walked out of the conference room.

America found himself standing behind England's door on a rainy day.  
He knocked a few times and since nobody opened the door he went over to the backyard to see if the kitchen door was left open.  
What he found was Arthur, sitting on a wet doorstep with a knife in his hand. Rain poured down on the blood soaked tiles.

"Arthur!" Alfred gasped and ran next to him, taking the blood stained knife from the shaking Briton's hand. "I'm so sorry…" he let tears roll down his cheeks and threw his arms around Arthur's waist. "Let's get you indoors."  
"It's okay... I'm not made of sugar you know…" Arthur said with a tired smile. "No you're not. You're made of glass. Now come on!" America insisted and dragged the unenthusiastic Briton indoors.

Tears became visible when the raindrops didn't fall down on their faces.

"You said I'm made of glass… Care to explain?" Arthur asked awkwardly as Alfred sat on the floor before him, bandaging the still bleeding wrist. Water dripped down their hairs and the kitchen floor was soaking. America glanced down sadly. "It's impossible to define when glass breaks, but if it does it's impossible to fix without leaving a mark… And glass might just as well get a slight crack or shatter completely. Learned this about you the hard way and... I'm sorry", America said quietly.

He had finished bandaging but didn't let go of Arthur's hand. The Brit dropped down on Alfred's lap and hugged him tightly.  
It took a moment for the surprised American to wrap his arms protectively around the slightly shivering England.

"I guess life's like the heart… You hardly notice it beating unless there's something wrong with it", he whispered to Alfred and brushed their lips together. For a moment their tongues intertwined gently until they reluctantly parted.

The rest of the day they spent together, and for the first time the rain soaked American felt himself enjoy English tea.

**A/N: Ahh this little wanker has been annoying the vocal cords out of me for AGES. I rewrote 9000 times and couldn't come up with a proper title or ending. Well it's here now so tell me what you think :) Constructive criticism much appreciated 3 Also feel free to point out my typos/grammatics or leave requests/trades/memes/whatever :D**


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